


What does a dog dream when he dreams?

by Memorycharm (tzy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: pornish_pixies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-18
Updated: 2004-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzy/pseuds/Memorycharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is in bad shape. Remus cleans him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What does a dog dream when he dreams?

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004 for a h/c challenge at pornish_pixies on LJ.

He is thin, thinner than he'd ever imagined possible, not and still be alive, breathing, thinking. His wrists are knobby sticks; his skin is vellum. The lice in his hair are fatter than him, and he stinks. 

Remus doesn't say anything, but his nose wrinkles almost imperceptibly. 

"Not a pretty sight," Sirius tries to say, but his voice is hoarse from misuse, and it comes out a dry croak. 

"Come on," Remus says in that still, calm voice, the one that whispers: _not a spy; never a traitor; how could you think--_

Sirius collapses halfway to the bath and Remus has to carry him, like a child. 

"Can you sit?" Remus says, helping him to the toilet and off with his tattered clothes. He's pissed himself at some point. He can't remember when. The tub is shining white; it hurts his eyes to look at it. 

"Bath first, then food?" Remus asks. Sirius nods, though these two concepts seem as abstract and far away as flying motorbikes and babbling godsons.

He yelps when Remus guides his feet into the tub--how had he forgotten water could be hot?

"Shh," Remus says, rubbing his arm, soothing him. Deep down, he thinks he remembers he ought to be offended by this treatment, this reduction to something weak that needs soothing. But he is weak, and he does need soothing, and it's Remus, so he says nothing.

Remus washes the filth from Sirius's body with a soft flannel and white, almond-scented soap. He has to refresh the water three times, sending magic tingling over Sirius.

The lice, dirt, piss, and dried blood all disappear down the swirling silver drain at the bottom of the painfully white tub. 

"Shh," Remus says again, drawing the wet flannel across Sirius's back and to his chest, like a mother would do for her baby. Or so Sirius imagines. He tilts his head to rest against Remus's chest, where his robes are already damp from splashes. 

Patchy wool, Sirius thinks. He wonders if it's the same set of robes Remus purchased when they left school. 

"Shh," Remus repeats, like a prayer, a mantra. He wipes the cloth down to Sirius's thighs, massaging what little muscle remains. Sirius feels his cock stir. 

He should be embarrassed, sitting in a tub of water, getting hard because Remus is bathing him like an infant, but he's not. Instead, he laughs, a choking echo of his old bark. He doesn't remember having an erection in twelve years.

Remus blinks, and goes on as if nothing happened, as if Sirius hadn't just laughed, hadn't just felt confirmation that his life and soul were still intact. He takes Remus's hand and draws it back. Remus falters for the first time, resists Sirius's pull. 

"Sirius?" he whispers, and Sirius wants to laugh again. He knows why Remus is hesitant; he knows a lot of things now that he didn't know before. Before, it was always James, and there was never any room to see the things Remus kept secret. He'd only known there _was_ a secret. 

"Please?" he says, keeping his grip on Remus's wrist.

Remus doesn't move for a few seconds. Then, he sighs and brings his hand up, leaving eddies whirling in the bathwater. Sirius relaxes against Remus's chest again and shuts his eyes. Remus's touch is light, exploratory. He skates his fingertips along the length of Sirius's cock, down to his balls, fondling them with as much care as he'd taken when bathing Sirius.

Sirius grunts when Remus's hand wraps around his cock. He raises both hands and digs his fingers into Remus's shoulders, splashing water on the floor. Remus holds him close with his free arm. "Shh," Remus says, his lips buzzing against Sirius's forehead. 

The only sounds for several moments are the rhythmic splashes as Remus strokes him. He is breathing hard, panting.

Then his body tightens and a warm sweetness burbles up his spine; he has to bite his lip to keep from crying out, it feels so good. How had he forgotten _this_ , too?

Sirius smiles.

Remus helps him out and folds him up in an enormous towel; he is still smiling.

"Food?" Remus asks, holding him tightly.

"No, this first," he creaks out, pressing his hand to Remus's crotch. Remus is hard. Sirius almost breaks down at that, knowing Remus liked touching him, even like this. 

Remus sighs again, but leads him into the tiny bedroom. The bed is hard and a bit lumpy, but still comfortable. Remus lets Sirius touch him, open his robes and trousers. Remus is thin--he was always thin--but he is heavy and firm next to Sirius. 

Sirius touches the rope-like scar running across Remus's abdomen. He's never looked at it closely; he'd seen it in passing, before, but he'd always averted his eyes to spare Remus any embarrassment.

Now, he glides his finger over the tissue, wanting to fix the feel of it in his mind. 

Remus's cock is thick and veined. Sirius wants to lick it, suck it until Remus comes, but he barely has the energy to squeeze it in his hand. Remus covers Sirius's hand with his own and helps him, tightens his grip and moves their hands together. "Yes, oh, yes," he says. "Sirius."

Sirius licks his fingers after. At least he can taste Remus this way. 

"Now food?" Remus says.

"No. This first," he says. He places Remus's hand over his flaccid cock, taking comfort in the gentle touch. He wants to wake up and find Remus's hand still there, cupped around him. 

He buries his nose in Remus's hair. It smells of dew-wet meadow grass and running rabbits, and the scent fills him with a gleaming happiness. 

 

Deep in his cell, the dog kicks in his sleep, whimpering.


End file.
